


starry, starry night (paint your pallete blue and gray)

by magicianparrish



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Joe and Booker friendship rights, M/M, Male Friendship, Pre-Canon, Stars, lots of talks of stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianparrish/pseuds/magicianparrish
Summary: “I always loved the stars,” Joe said suddenly. Sébastien did not give a reply, but Joseph noticed the minute change of his body language. He was listening.“Starry nights like these, where they are in so much abundance it’s hard to see the darkness between them. I remember watching them slowly make their way across the sky. Staying up much too late for my mother’s liking. And then trying not to get caught sneaking back into the home as dawn began to creep over.”“Do you remember them?” Sébastien finally asked, in a hushed whisper.“I remember the things that matter.”Sébastien craned his neck upward to look at the sky above them. His eyes following all the splatters of white.____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Some Booker angst, but also this is Joe and Booker friendship rights and origins.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, the Joe/Nicky are very minor though
Comments: 3
Kudos: 57





	starry, starry night (paint your pallete blue and gray)

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to the song Vincent by Don McLean and felt some real intense emotions and thus this came to be. Anyway, enjoy some Booker angst, and Joe and Booker friend rights. 
> 
> (Not beta'd or edited)

There really was nothing that compared to the winters in Russia, in Joseph’s opinion. He was not made to bear the frigid temperature drops that winter brought, growing up in the temperate Mahdia. But he could understand why people created beautiful pieces about it. The softness of the snow that covered everything in sight, or how each snowflake that fell from the clouds was uniquely shaped. It was a beautiful sight to behold, but when she finally has you in her warm embrace she becomes deadly as anything else. 

Joseph had never frozen to death before, but he was not too keen on seeing it to fruition. But they had found their new brother, Sébastien, alone in this wilderness. His clothes robbed from him, and the rope of a noose still hanging limply around his neck as he stumbled through the trees. Confused, alone, terrified.

Nicolas had woken up and barely waited for him and Andrea to follow. They tracked his movements for months, trying to see if their shared dreams could give them any clues to find him. Most nights it was just the shadows of the canopy of pines that stretched to the sky. Joseph could always smell the lingering scent as he woke up. Most nights it was Sébastien huddled under any shelter he could find, shivering so hard it nearly broke his teeth. Trying to start fires to keep warm, and eating whatever he could find. 

It was only when they dreamt of buildings, a small village that they made headway. Andrea had remembered one of the landmarks, identifying it by a name it had not been called in centuries. They all just hoped their new brother stayed put so they could reach him. And he did. Nicolas was the first to find him, taking sanctuary in the small modest stone church. He looked better than their dreams originally showed. 

He was scruffy-looking, his dirty blonde hair greasy and falling into his face. Shielding his eyes from unwanted visitors. He wore roughspun wool clothes that replaced the rags he had been stuck with before. He was still thin though, and he looked more skin and bones than anything. But he now had been kept warm and given food by the charitable people of this small village. 

They slowly coaxed him out of the church, and to the small inn, they had rented a room for the night. Their new brother had a lot of questions and the answers they could give them would not bode well in a place such as a church. They needed the privacy of a room. Joseph had reached a hand out to the man who was curled against one of the stone walls. He looked up at Joseph like a child looked to an elder. His blue eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and his nose was a deep red from the cold. Joseph gave an encouraging smile, flexing his fingers. 

“Come brother,” he said in a soft voice. They had tried a few languages until they reached Proven çal as the correct one. 

Slowly, Sébastien reached out and clasped his with Joseph’s. His hand was cold as ice, and Joseph could practically see every bone and knuckle and vein. The skin was pale as death, but Joseph felt a moment of warmth go between them. It was the first step to trust. 

Nicolas and Andrea helped their new brother get steady on his feet, as they walked out of the church and down the narrow streets to the inn. Nicolas ordered a bowl of hot broth to be brought up for them all and handed some gold coins to the innkeeper. The room was small, and certainly not fit for four people. But they always kept close together, not separating unless absolutely necessary. 

Joseph ushered Sébastien toward the bed and gently sat him down. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the floor. Nicolas wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and then sat down next to Joseph on the floor. Andrea remained standing in the corner, her black hair hanging around her shoulders. 

“You have questions,” she said breaking the silence. 

Sébastien nodded his head in a jerky movement. He let out a deep exhale and cleared his throat, but it turned into a cough. Nicolas found a small pitcher of water and poured him a cup to hand it to. The man took it and finished it all in one go. He coughed some more, but it wasn’t as strong and gutwrenching. 

“Thank you,” he muttered in Proven çal. Then he looked up at all of them. His eyes clear for the first time. “Who are you.” 

The three of them shared a look between themselves. Joseph ran a hand through his beard, while Nicolas pursed his lips. They both looked at Andrea to take charge. She was their leader after all. Andrea let out a sigh and shook her head. 

“We’re like you,” she said. 

Sébastien furrowed his eyebrows and he sat forward on the cot. His elbows digging into his thighs. “You mean you can’t seem to die too?” 

“We die, but it does not seem to stick,” Nicolas clarified. “I am Nicolò. That is Yusuf and Andromache.” 

“You can call us Nicolas, Joseph, and Andrea though if you prefer,” Joseph added. 

Sébastien’s eyes got glassy again, as he leaned back against the wall of the small room. “How did you find me?” 

“The dreams,” Andrea said. 

“You have those too, then?” 

“We have them until we meet. Then they go away. They help us find each other.” 

Sébastien scoffed. “So I am not mad then. Or maybe I am, and you all are too.” He let out a soft curse. “So we really can’t die?” 

Nicolas shook his head. “No. If it brings you a little peace, we can show you.” He took out a hidden dagger from his pants and gently sliced his palm for all to see. A gush of red came out of the wound, but then in a moment, the skin healed over as if nothing had ever been there. 

Joseph and Andrea demonstrated as well as proof. Sébastien watched it with apt attention before scrubbing his hands over his face and cursing. 

“This is real. How can this be? Why me?” he bemoaned. 

“Asking those questions will only lead to real madness,” Nicolas gently warned. “We have all asked them ourselves, and yet find no answers.” 

“You learn to accept it, and move forward,” Andrea curtly said. 

Sébastien shook his head vehemently. He stood up from his bed, causing him to wobble. Joe followed and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder to stable him. His hands were in his hair, tugging at the roots. 

“How long does it last?” he whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse. 

“We don’t know,” Joseph admitted. 

Sébastien looked him right in the eyes. They were blue like Andrea’s, but they reminded Joseph of a soft cloudy day. The color of clouds not quite so saturated with water yet, but gathering more every moment. There was a lot of pain in those eyes. 

“How long have you all lived with it?” 

Joseph’s eyes went to Nicolas’s. They shared a moment together, one they have shared for hundreds of years. 

“Nicolas and I met our fate outside the gates of Jerusalem. During the first Crusade,” he said. “Andrea has been around much, much longer. She is our leader, the first of us.” 

Sébastien then started to pace around the room. A burst of agitated energy going through him as he tried to process the news. He turned to look at all of them, each in the eyes. 

“And you just accepted it? Never questioned it?” 

“Of course we did. Sometimes we still do, but when you never get the answers you seek, then what is the point?” Andrea bit out. 

“I have a family!” Sébastien shouted. “A wife, and our three sons. Who I have not seen in close to three years. I can’t just leave them behind.” 

A heavy silence fell among them in the room. Nicolas had turned his head down, his lips pursed tightly. Joseph watching their new brother closely, seeing the pain in his eyes. Andrea remained where she stood, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze piercing. 

“And we can’t stop you from going back to them,” Andrea finally said shrugging. “But I do have to warn you that when they start aging and dying, and they notice you remain the same, you will wish you left them thinking you were dead.” 

“I will take that chance,” Sébastien said in defiance. “I need fresh air.” 

He pushed his way through Joseph and Nicolas and out the door. They shared a worried look, but Andrea did not seem bothered. 

“If he wants to make those mistakes, he can,” she said. “But I’m going to sleep now.” 

A soft knock on the door came, and Nicolas opened it up. The innkeeper was on the other side with a small tray of bowls. The broth smelled divine, and the steam was still lingering on it. Nicolas took the tray from the woman’s hands with a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” he said before closing the door. He put the tray down on a small table in the corner. He picked up one of the bowls and the spoon, giving it to Joseph. 

“Go take this to our new brother,” he instructed. “He needs something.” 

Joseph nodded and gently made his way to the front of the inn. He found Sébastien sitting on the curb hunched over. Joseph cleared his throat to notify the man of his presence as he sat down next to him. 

“Nicolas told me to bring this to you,” he said. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“It is just some broth. Nothing too heavy. Plus, it would make Nicolas sleep better knowing that you ate something before you left. He is a bit of a mother hen,” Joseph said trying to make light. 

When Sébastien did not take it, Joseph put the bowl between the two of them. They sat in silence together as they watched the little village slowly go to sleep for the night. Joseph looked up at the sky. The darkness of it splattered with stars across it. It was a clear, crisp night. 

“I always loved the stars,” Joe said suddenly. Sébastien did not give a reply, but Joseph noticed the minute change of his body language. He was listening. 

“Starry nights like these, where they are in so much abundance it’s hard to see the darkness between them. I remember watching them slowly make their way across the sky. Staying up much too late for my mother’s liking. And then trying not to get caught sneaking back into the home as dawn began to creep over.” 

The faces of his family had long succumbed to the sands of time. He knew there were some drawings of them scattered somewhere in a safehouse of theirs. But he could still recall the soft scent of jasmine that always followed his mother around. 

“Do you remember them?” Sébastien finally asked, in a hushed whisper. 

“I remember the things that matter.” 

Sébastien craned his neck upward to look at the sky above them. His eyes following all the splatters of white. 

“Why do you like the stars so much?” 

“Reminds me that we are just a small part of the world. Even with the gift we have, the things I have seen, and soon you will too, we are just human. We will never see everything it has to offer. It humbles me, quite frankly.” 

“My eldest son, Alexandre, loves the stars too. I had bought him a book about them before I went away. It had these beautiful illustrations of the stars and planets, and he read that book every day. He could rattle on about them all day if we let him, and sometimes we did. He wanted to discover things like Copernicus or Galileo, or Kepler,” Sébastien said. “It drove my middle son, Henri mad some days.” 

They shared a small chuckle together. Joseph was glad to see that Sébastien was opening up a little to him. 

“I hope that your son keeps looking at them. That his drive to know more helps him succeed,” Joseph said. 

“He’s a very bright boy. He will do fine,” Sébastien said. “I just need to see them again. Knowing I have another chance to, I cannot squander that. If I do, it will plague me forever.” 

Joe put a comforting hand on Sébastien’s shoulder. “Though I agree with Andromache’s warning, I will say that I understand. We will escort you back home. And we will be waiting for you to return to us as well when the time comes.” 

* * *

They never strayed too far in the coming years. The three of them had escorted Sébastien back home to Marseille and parted ways for the time being. They watched from afar as a woman with a shock of red hair opened the door and screamed at the sight of him. She was a small woman, barely coming past Sébastien’s chest, but she hugged him tightly enough that Joseph thought that she would lift him off the ground. They got a glimpse of three other heads peaking out to see the commotion. Sébastien’s three sons, who he hugged with fervor. It was a deeply intimate moment, that Joseph felt bad for intruding on, even from afar. But it was the happiest he had seen their new brother since they found him. 

Andrea had looked on with her stoic expression. Nicolas had silently found their hands intertwined together as he gave a brief squeeze. When the door shut behind the small family, they took their leave too. 

They kept an eye on Sébastien. They watched as he lived his life like he had not died in the forests of Russia on the campaign for Napoleon. He worked odd jobs, went to salons with friends, played games with his children outside. It was a simple life, but one that would end in tragedy. 

His wife was the first to die. She had grown gray hairs that slowly replaced her fiery locks, and wrinkles began to mar her face. It took her more time to do things that once came so easy to her. She had noticed that Sébastien did not seem to age as she did, but she never brought it up. She got sick and died in her sleep, as peaceful as it could go. 

Sébastien watched as his sons grew up around him, and went from being mere boys into men. He saw Alexandre and Jean-Pierre go to university, get married, and start families of their own. He experienced becoming a grandfather and holding his grandchildren. It was all he could have wanted and more. 

Then hardships hit France and with it the slow spread of small famines across the kingdom. They were spared the worst of it, but his middle son Henri was killed in a construction accident. He was only thirty-four years old. Burying his child was the first time Sébastien felt the cracks in the decision to return to his old life. 

As his children and grandchildren began to age around him, he slowly became separated from them. Alexandre, his eldest was now older than he was when he first died and came back to life. The little boy who loved the stars so much he wanted to touch them, had somehow become a man who now had gray hairs and crow’s feet around his eyes. Sébastien tried to alter his appearance to look older than he did, but it never truly worked. Whispers began to circulate about him. The end of his old life was slowly coming. 

It was when his youngest son, Jean-Pierre got sick that Sébastien knew it was time to close the book. Jean-Pierre had been just a small child when he was taken away and put into the Grande Armée, and when he came back home. Now a man of forty-three and slowly dying of something that no one could control. 

He would never forget the hatred in his son’s eyes. His son, his baby. The only thing left that proved that Sébastien Le Livre had once been a mortal man, with an ordinary life. A man who loved his wife, and his sons. 

“I knew there was something wrong! We all knew it! Alex, Henri, and I talked about it all the time. We wondered why it was that it seemed that everyone around you was aging but you still looked exactly the same as you did when you came home from the war,” Jean-Pierre had ranted, before going into a convulsion of pain. 

Sébastien had reached out to grab his son’s hand. Jean-Pierre grabbed it and squeezed it tightly, bringing him closer.

“What is your secret? Papa, please give it to me so that I may not be in pain anymore,” he begged. 

Sébastien felt his heart break into a million pieces. He kissed his son’s hand gently. “If I could, I would. But I do not know why this has been given to me, and I do not know how I can share it.” 

He watched as something shifted in his son’s eyes. Brown eyes that had pleaded with Sébastien, who always used them to his advantage growing up, into something hard. A fire ignited in them, into a hatred. Jean-Pierre yanked his hand back as if it had been burned. 

“You lie,” he accused. “You can help me and you’re not.” 

Sébastien shook his head. “I say what I mean. If I could give it away I wouldn’t hesitate. Not even for a moment. I would’ve given it to your mother to save her, and your brothers. And I would give my healing to you as well. But I would also never wish to inflict upon you the burden of living forever.” 

“That’s what this is? You live forever? Like...like an immortal from those myths you would read to us as children?” he scoffed. 

“Something like that,” he admitted. 

“Then why you? Why not me? Or Mama, or Alex, or Henri?” 

“I ask myself that question every day. And I still yield no answers.” 

“It’s not fair.” 

Sébastien looked at his hands. He couldn’t look his own son in the eyes as he nodded. “I know.” 

“And yet you do nothing. What is the point of your gift if you cannot even help your own blood?” 

Tears started to fall from Sébastien’s eyes and he looked up to see Jean-Pierre had started to cry as well. A wave of pain wracked through his son’s body, eliciting a wail of agony from him. Sébastien leaned forward and got a glass of water for his son, but in a fit of anger his son knocked it out of his hands. 

“WHY!” he screamed. “WHY CAN’T YOU HELP ME?” 

Sébastien was silenced. “I am your son,” Jean-Pierre sobbed. “Your youngest son, and you do nothing. You continue to live while I sit here to rot. You can find some way to help me, I know you can.” 

“I have already tried.” 

“THEN TRY HARDER!” Tears were falling like streams down his face, and snot running out of his nose. His eyes were bloodshot, and drool came bubbling out of his mouth. “Papa, _please_ I am begging you. Do not leave me to die.” 

It felt hard to breathe. Sébastien felt as if his heart was constricting ever tighter in his chest. Watching his son suffer the way he was, was the hardest thing he had ever done. Harder than navigating his way through the Russian forests, freezing to death every night. Harder than slipping the noose that killed him the first time for trying to desert during the retreat. Harder than burying his other two sons six feet under next to their mother. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. It was all he could say. 

Hysterical laughter burst from Jean-Pierre. It came from deep inside of him. “Sorry? Sorry! If that is all you have to say, then I never want to see you again! Leave me to die then, I hope it haunts you.” He spat at his feet. 

“Jean-Pierre,” Sébastien started. 

“GET OUT! GET OUT!” he screamed. “I HATE YOU!” 

It drew the attention of some of the nurses and doctors, so Sébastien stood up silently and looked at his son one last time before leaving with him screaming behind him. 

Jean-Pierre did not last much longer after that day. Just three months later his last son was dead and buried in a small plot he had bought years ago. He had held it together for so long, but at that moment, looking at the tombstone with all his family’s names etched onto it, he broke. 

Sébastien fell to his knees and sobbed. He cried until he had no more tears left, and then he continued anyway. He did not care who else saw. He had enough grief to last him for the rest of his life. However many lifetimes it was. 

He did not know how long he was there. But he heard the soft footsteps of someone approaching, but did not bother to raise his head to see who it was. He felt the body of the person sit down next to him. 

“I am sorry,” the voice said. It was a voice Sébastien had not heard in years, but he recognized the soft cadence of it. 

He looked up to see it was Joseph next to him. He looked almost exactly the same as he remembered. The kind brown eyes, and the gentle smile he always had. His hair was trimmed down, and in place of the full beard was just a close shave and shadow of one with a mustache. Sébastien nodded in acknowledgment but did not say anything. His face was sore and stiff from the sobs. 

“Where are the others?” he asked. 

“Close by. But it’s just the two of us for now.” 

It was a gentle autumn night. The trees were starting to change color and fall. From afar he could hear the soft calls of gulls by the sea. It smelled softly of salt and fish. A scent he had known all his life. Dusk had settled in for the night, letting the sun make way for the moon and stars. 

Joseph looked at the tombstone with all the names, dates, and epithets written. There was a space empty, waiting for one more to join. Though it was unknown when it would be filled in. Then he looked up at the sky above them. It was a clear night, with no clouds as far as the eye could see. 

The sky was painted a beautiful myriad of warm colors as the sunset. They waited in silence together until night fully crept in around them. Joseph let out a deep breath as he leaned back resting on his elbows. 

“I do love starry nights,” Joseph finally said. 

“So I recall,” Sébastien replied a minute later. His voice was rough and hoarse, but also gentle. 

“Do you remember why?” Joseph asked. 

“Because it makes you feel small. Humbles you,” Sébastien said. 

Joseph hummed. “Indeed. Nothing humbles one more than the stars. They truly are shining bright tonight.” 

They watched them together. It seemed as if for that moment, the world finally stood still for them. 

“Your son, Alexandre, did he continue to look at the stars?” 

“Yes,” Sébastien said. “He never stopped loving them.” 

“Good. There will always be something we love forever. Something that sticks with us through the years. Art has always gotten me through the roughest times.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like knowing I would never see my wife and children again after I had died and resurrected.” 

Sébastien whipped his head toward Joseph, shock written all over his face. Joseph gave him a soft chuckle and shrugged. 

“Please don’t act so surprised. I was in my thirties when I died the first time. Our families had arranged our marriage, and yes I will say I loved her, Safiyya. We were a good match, and she was a good wife. The best wife I could have asked for. She bore me two children, Amal and Harun. Though I could’ve been a better husband. I was always away on business, as a merchant. I traveled all around. It was how I ended up in Jerusalem in the first place. 

“When I died in that bloodbath at Jerusalem, I thought I would never wake up. And when I did and saw that the heathen Frank who had impaled me, and who I impaled back was also alive, deep down I knew the life I had before was over. Going home knowing that I couldn’t die was a secret I couldn’t bear to shoulder alone. And when it became apparent that I would not age any further, I knew for sure I couldn’t. 

“It was only when we went back to Mahdia  _ years _ later, that I found out that my wife and children had aged and died without me. It was for the best though. So I understand why you did it, Sébastien. Truly, I do.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?” 

“Stop hurting? No. Does it get easier to shoulder? Yes. I am lucky to have found love again in Nicolò. But you will not be alone anymore. You will have me, and Nicolas, and Andrea too. Do you remember what I told you on that starry night in Russia, just like this one tonight?” 

“You will be there for me when I come back,” he recalled. 

“Yes. And you have come back. I know it may night seem like it, but we are your family too. We know the burdens you have carried alone in your time here, and you will not need to do it anymore. We help each other when nights get tough and trust me there will be those days. But we love and support each other always because we are all we have left now.” 

Sébastien reached out a hand and put it on Joseph’s arm. He gave a small smile and a bow of his head. “Thank you, Yusuf.” 

“Always.” 

He looked up at the twinkling stars again. Swirled in the beautiful black of night. “You do not need to forget them. When you look at the stars, you can think of Alexandre’s love for them, and many memories spent under night skies with your boys and wife. Just as I look up and think of my own sister, and my mother’s look of fond disdain when she saw the dark circles under my eyes from yet another full night gazing above me. The stars are far, but they can also ground you too.” 

Joseph stood up from the ground, dusting the dirt off his trousers and jacket. Then he held his hand out toward Sébastien, flexing his fingers. 

“Come brother,” he said. 

Sébastien took his hand and lifted himself off the ground. Joseph gave a smile and wrapped his arm around his shoulders as they walked back toward the others and the new family. 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this is, but here we are. Hope you enjoyed it! I would 100% suggest listening to Vincent by Don McLean because it's a beautiful song and so very angsty. 
> 
> Drop some kudos and comments below :) Thanks for reading!


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